


Crescendo

by shinytoymercenaries



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Never Met, Borderline Personality Disorder, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Hallucinations, Hospitalization, M/M, Mild Gore, Non-Graphic Smut, POV Second Person, drugs and alcohol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 00:06:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6134632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinytoymercenaries/pseuds/shinytoymercenaries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time you meet him, even learn of his existence, is when he puts a bullet through your shoulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time you meet him, even learn of his existence, is when he puts a bullet through your shoulder.

It comes from nowhere - the metal ripping through skin and muscle, which effectively destroys the tattoo there, before exiting through the front. You scream and falter, you drop your gun but spin on your heels, hand on your knife and ready to throw at the overconfident sniper with the lucky shot. Your eyes, narrowed and filled with rage, quickly spot the too far-away, giant shadow who practically blocks out the sun. He stand cliffside, cocks his rifle, and then disappears into thin air - cloaked.

You growl and put your knife back. Still seething, you make your way back to the rebel camp, pushing away overly concerned kids who try to pass as soldiers. Kimball treats you much the same way, insisting that you go to a med tent and get looked at. You brush her off but eventually comply, trying your best to keep your friendly facade on but the cracks are there and noticeable; you'll need to do something ‘heroic’ later to make up for this sour attitude.

That night, you can't sleep. You keep clenching yours hands and grinding your teeth, huffing like a child as you toss and turn on the worn-out cot that was provided to you despite the screaming pain from your shoulder. Who did that asshole think he was, a phrase that repeats itself in your head over and over again until you're not even sure you haven't been saying it out loud. That shadow, that sniper… You knew who you were: Felix, mercenary with a heart of gold, playing this army gig up for all it was worth, con-artist, murderer, fucked up piece of shit, monster, and about to be filthy fucking rich. 

You can't sleep, there's no point in trying. Instead, you spend the night fantasizing about how you'll kill him, how you'll pull his eyes of their sockets with your bare fingers and hell, maybe you'll even peel his trigger finger like a piece of fruit, flaying the top layer of skin all the way down to the muscle. The grotesque thoughts begin to put you at ease until you eventually pass out.

The next day, you’re back at the war table with Kimball berating you. You don’t listen...you can only think. Think about the sniper, about the warning shot, about the destroyed tattoo on your shoulder, about the searing pain every time you move, about how you’ll kill him...you want to think about anything else than what’s coming out of her mouth. 

Eventually, she asks you to respond and you find you can’t. It’s not like you to break character like this, to stray so far from the carefully crafted mold of helpful if cynical Felix, but you don’t bother repairing it. 

What she tells you next does pique your interest though...they have intel on the sniper. Her scouts were scouring for anything they could in the name of revenge; she knows that if you were to die then this war really would be a lost cause. It’s almost disgusting how much she cares about you, you can see in her eyes, tell it even from behind a visor...it’s a little disturbing to be honest, and you know your own standards for that are fairly high. She goes on to say the sniper calls himself Locus, after his own armor, and he too is a mercenary.

From your spot at the end of the table, the corners of your mouth begin to twitch and pick up at the corners. Your features are carefully concealed by metal, fibers, and bulletproof, tinted-glass but you try to control your excitement nonetheless. She assumes you’d be upset, she’s wrong. You're ecstatic. You can feel heat pooling from the bottom of your stomach and gradually heading lower at the mere thought of it all...another mercenary, a huge power play, proving you’re better than him, bringing him down, torturing him, killing him... Kimball asks if you know him; you laugh her off, asking if she really thought mercenaries all hung out together at the end of the day. You laugh and find you can’t stop, you’re still giggling like a maniac on the way out the door and back to your own room, but not from Kimball’s ignorance.

You have recruit training today but decide to skip it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally found this in the trash section of my google docs and decided to salvage it; I honestly don't remember why I trashed it in the first place but I think it had something to do with the finale. Overall it's a short piece so I'll upload the chapters periodically.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention, but this is actually one long story in my docs but I think it reads better in installments. Also it'll give me time to organize my thoughts a little better.
> 
> Wow, thanks for all the kudos! :)

The second time you meet him, he doesn’t shoot you, but the shot is meant as another warning.

The well-aimed shot lands heavily in front of your right foot causing you to halt and look around. You see no one and dodge behind a tree, survival instincts kicking in automatically. You know it’s him. Every fiber of your being knows it’s him. Who the hell else would it be anyways? You’ve made a name for yourself on Chorus already even though it’s only been a year. People know to fear you, but this one…

He’s cloaked, you won’t be able to find him unless you’re looking right at him or end up close enough distance-wise. Both are risky tactics which could end up with you dead. He’s obviously got skills as a sniper, but how good could he have been in CQC? Probably not very. You, on the other hand, wrote the book on it. You’re a master, and have plenty of knives on hand to demonstrate just that. If only you could find the coward...standing still is doing you no good, and surely he saw you dodge behind this tree if he had you in his sights. What’s his game, you wonder, what’s he playing at here? No one toyed with you, they didn’t dare. They knew better than to treat you this way, you were too powerful. 

But in reality...you were scared. Ever since that day he shot you, there’s been a nagging thought in the back of your mind. Not only did he sneak up on you…he shot you. He got the better of you. He could have split your head open like a gourd with that one shot despite your helmet. You know it, you realize he could kill you. Suddenly, your excitement fades and you feel defeated...but you’re not out of the game. You’re still breathing, still fighting. You are a survivor, you tell yourself, you survived the Great War when the rest of your squadron lay in scattered pieces on that battlefield. You’ve survived mercenary work - difficult assassination targets both political and personal, complicated plots to steal intel, and of course the occasional odd job that was deemed just too dirty for anyone else to do.

Why are you scared of him? Is it because you don’t want to die? Or something else? Had you really fantasized about killing him that much that this defeat was turning into disappointment?

Thinking like this was going to get you killed. You scream for you brain to move, but you can’t. You try everything in your power to move but your legs continue to remain useless. With a swift motion, you pull your knife and jam it into your own leg. The pain sparks through your muscles like fire, racing along your nerve impulses as the adrenaline begins to pump. With your other free hand, you pull the pistol from your side and duck back out in the clearing and fire off a few shots.

The shots either disappear into the distance or ricochet off trees. Chorus is such an ugly planet, you decide, as you duck back into the forested density of one of it’s jungle portions. Most of the planet was barren wastelands but few spots like these still maintained foliage. All in all, it made decent cover for you...but gave your opponent too much of an upper hand. You can’t stay here, you’ve made it clear of your position so it’s time to move.

This is so damn stupid, you could literally be running right into him. Still, you’re sure enough in your speed to get away and find new cover. Your hardlight shield would only be useful if he shot from the front again so you know you can’t rely on it too heavily. Another shot whips past your head, he’s found you. Instantly you activate your hardlight shield, almost as if to rub it in his face; he had his chance and missed. Still, this appears to be a stalemate so far...maybe you can talk your way out of this. You’re good at that.

You put your pistol back into its holster, ignoring the warm, trickle of blood that runs down your thigh underneath your bodysuit from the self-inflicted wound. You throw your other hand up and walk into the clearing, put your shield away, and call time out. You laugh, flippant, putting your normal mask back up to cloak any sort of fear or uncertainty. You continue on, asking for a ceasefire for just a second. You tell him it’s a stalemate so far, but you’d really like to know the man you’re going to kill before you do it; you lie, tell him that you respect him, waiting for him to uncloak to give yourself an opening to toss your knife. Even if it didn’t hurt him in the long run, it would give you the advantage.

When he does uncloak, he’s a good distance away from you in the clearing. He’s wearing black and green armor, a helmet with no visible visor (maybe he doesn’t need it), and quite honestly, he’s probably over 6 feet tall which means he towers over you by at least a foot if not more. You can tell from his size that he’s slow, he’d lose in CQC quick, and his heavily modded sniper would only serve him well from a distance. 

“Lemme guess...Locus, right?” you ask almost innocently, making some kind of motion with your hands. Why you were prone to do that you’d never understand, it’s just something you’d picked up. In the silence that stands between the two of you, you think you see the slightest of nods. “I’m gonna take that as a yes. So Locus...that’s not your real name. Any reason you’re hiding behind your helmet?” This is how it always starts. If you can’t get them talking, you just keep it up, find something to pick at, see if you can rile them up and distract them. You know nothing about him but you figure you can size him up easily enough from what you do, after all, you’re the best and you know it.

The man in black and green says nothing, just continues to stare in your direction. You wonder for a moment if maybe he’s some kind of robot. You’d heard about these robotic creations, they were becoming more and more frequent these days and they did cost a pretty penny to get. Maybe that’s why he had no name. 

“Oh, I get it...you forget how to talk over there? Maybe you can’t?”

You can tell he’s probably sizing you up, waiting to see what you’ll do. 

“You’re Felix.” he finally says, tone unfortunately unimpressed.

“You got it, babe. Felix, mercenary with a heart of gold, here to help with anything and everything.” It’s a practiced line you’ve worked with for years, only replacing your various alias name when needed. Even if you didn’t use a fake name, it wasn’t like anyone could accurately pronounce your real name. You know you’re not exactly fluent in Korean either but still.

“I can’t say I was expecting much.” Or, given his tone, he actually _had_ been expecting something. You wonder what the hell he could have meant by that considering you matched him step for step. Your only injury was a self-inflicted one.

“What’s the matter? Upset you didn’t get an instant kill via headshot? It’s gonna take a lot more than some sneaking around to beat me, Locus. But I gotta tell you...man, you are actually pretty good. Better than good, and believe me, that’s actually a compliment coming from me.” Or a lie. This asshole hadn’t done jack shit other than get the jump on you. In a fair fight, this ‘Locus’ would have been on the ground in a second flat. “So what’s the deal? What do you get out of all this?” If his answer was anything like your own, you might be inclined to call him your new best ‘frenemy’. After all, money and power were your biggest selling points...but were they his? It’s a shame that the Feds were probably paying him some measly sum for all this while you were raking in the big bucks from this ‘Command’, whoever the hell they were.

“I was...contacted for this mission. I intend to complete it no matter what.”

“Really? That’s lame.” You sigh, nearly interrupting him as you speak before he gets his final word out. “So it’s not about the money? Hell, let’s switch sides then so I can make some more.” You laugh and this throws him off-balance, his rifle slightly falling with the motion.

“You...don’t care then?”

You smile at him from behind your helmet, “Look, uh, Locus, right? I’ll be honest with you since I’m just gonna kill you anyways….no, I really don’t care. I could give two shits what happens to this planet as long as I’m getting paid at the end of the day. The power trip ain’t half bad either I gotta say. I’m getting paid to kill people...like any good mercenary out there.” Technically, you haven’t given away the game yet, but either way, he’s going to die before he can tell anyone. Still, he doesn’t seem like the tattletale type. You can’t help but wonder what he looks like under his helmet. His voice is coming through a filter so it’s hard to judge, and you don’t have anything else to go on.

He’s quiet then. You’re not sure why. Maybe he’s thinking how he’ll escape to let the Feds know, maybe it’s something else entirely. You’re not gonna let that happen, grab your pistol, and fire off some rounds. He cloaks and you can only assume he dodged the bullets. You wait to see if your opponent is gonna make a move. It’s quiet, the air is still, there’s not even a rustle of leaves.

He’s gone. 

You wonder if you should worry about the future of your job.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to cut this chapter short so the next one might be a little bit longer.

The third time you meet him is on accident.

In the middle of the jungle was an abandoned base you’d been using to contact Command during your year long stay on Chorus. Command sent spies disguised as rebel soldiers beforehand and they were the ones who actually found it; despite this, you’d made it clear you’re the only one allowed here. You needed a place to blow off steam, to relax and be yourself in a sense. You’ve led enough soldiers here, from both sides naturally, for the place to be considered a graveyard. You fuck ‘em, then you kill ‘em. You found the practice a good therapy. It was a different feeling from killing one in the heat of battle. It was...better. 

But now... _he_ stood in front of you; Lucas or Locus or whatever the hell he called himself. He seems almost surprised to find you, maybe you got the jump on him, and he raises his sniper rifle up at you. You shake your head in annoyance, not in the mood for a fight and ask him what he’s doing here.

“This base would make a good outpost.”

“You know, I thought the same thing...a year ago...when I found it first.” You throw back mockingly, inching forward with ever pause.

“What’s to stop me from taking it? It is on Fed ground.”

You can feel your mouth twist, “Wow, you are a fucking horrible liar. Also, I’m not an idiot, so nice try dumbass. This base was abandoned AND it lies right in-between the two sides which by default would make it neutral ground.” He doesn’t say anything to that. God, how you wish you could see his face right now. You smile when you imagine just how dumb the look on his face must be. “Aw, come on buddy, we can share it...especially if you wanna blow off some steam…” Normally you’d throw in an obscene hand gesture or two but it always comes off a little awkward in armor. Almost instantly you can see his body posture falter...did it really catch him off guard that badly?

You notice his rifle falter even lower as you saunter past him and punch in the access code to open the door.

“Are you seriously propositioning me in the middle of a war zone?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda my thing.” you say flippantly, jokingly, as you walk in further, looking around over your shoulder to see if he’s going to follow you inside. When he does, the door sensor triggers and the metal contraption slams shut; in response, the overhead light come on and the devices that control gravity and oxygen click on and adjust to the appropriate levels.

With a relieved sigh, you throw your helmet off into a corner of the main room. In another corner sat two lone mattresses you’d shove together in the attempt to make a bed; it might have just been old mattresses but it slept a hell of a lot better than that dingy cot you were expected to sleep on back at the rebel base. You can feel eyes on you, curious maybe confused, as you promptly collapse, fully-armored, onto your ‘ _ad hoc nirvana_ ’.

“Damn, are you always this quiet?” you ask of him, arms laced underneath your head despite the painful feel of armor against your exposed scalp. You move slightly, almost as if remembering something, before wiggling your way back up off the mattresses and heading over towards a couple of crates. “Look, you don’t be so on edge and shit. It’s a ceasefire on neutral ground, it’s not like I’m gonna stab you when you get all comfortable or something.” You laugh and continue to rummage in your personal belongings - secret trinkets and hard to get items you’d so desperately kept hidden. 

Honestly, you weren’t even sure of your own words. If Locus attacked you, then you were going to attack back...simple as that. But only if that was the case. There were better times and places to kill someone like Locus.

“Come on,” you offer, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey. Your personal food reserves had been depleted some time ago, but you still cling tight to these hard to find commodities. It wasn't like you could walk to a convenience store or anything.

You waltz back towards the ‘bed’ and situate yourself on the mattress closest to the wall, half-expecting him to come and sit beside you. In full-armor, it wasn’t all that comfy but you could make do. You put the pack of cigarettes beside you, box of matches you’d grabbed as well, before untwisting the cap of the whiskey bottle and throwing it back. You chug a good bit before pausing to take a breath and turning to offer him some.

Locus just stands there...silent, completely still, arms down by his side. It’s almost like he’s in shut down mode or something.

You shrug and prop the bottle back up for another swig.

“This doesn’t make sense.” he announces abruptly, causing you to pause in mid-drink, casting your eyes over at him as you do. 

“What doesn’t make sense, Locus?” you ask him with an amused tone. Have you maybe thrown some kind of wrench into his plans...his understanding?

“...you don’t.” he says, looking away with eyes downcast at the floor, “You’re a soldier, a mercenary like me and yet you…”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t call myself a soldier. Mercenary is right though.” You smile and take a tiny sip this time, the liquid getting to be a tad too strong in its unfiltered state. “What, is it because I’m just doing this for the money? I mean, what are you doing it for then? Don’t tell you actually went and got invested in the cause?” you ask almost incredulously, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

“I was contacted for this mission and I intend to complete it.”

“You said that already.”

Alright, now you were starting to get bored. 

He didn’t want to drink with you, didn’t want to talk to you, and didn’t want to fuck you. Something was extremely wrong with this picture.

Before you can say anything else, he’s walking, no, power-walking to get out of the base. You don’t try and stop him. You don’t much care anymore considering how buzzed you are.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring redgrave's blind!Locus design. Also, there's smut coming up in the next part.

At this point, you can’t even remember how many times you’ve run into him.

You were actually surprised to find him at the hidden base after that day, almost like he was there to make amends or something. Really, he wants to understand you better. Apparently, after that night, he’d gotten some kind of niggling in the back of his head and couldn’t sleep properly...and so here he was again. 

He brought nothing with him that day, save for his armor and his rifle, and the two of you had had a ‘’talk’. Tame and fairly boring for the most part, mostly just talk about what had happened on Chorus while Locus was away. Things like that. The next few talks you have, either at the hidden base or through your personal comm-link, are short and non-descriptive, you barely remember what they were about. 

The real fun doesn’t start until you get him drinking. You offer him a whiskey bottle, a different one from your previous meetings, although you’re certain he’s going to reject it. Instead, he clicks the latch releases on his helmet and your breath catches in your throat. It had only just occurred to you that you still hadn’t seen Locus’s face. Maybe his voice filter was just for show and he was really just a young kid, or hell, maybe ‘he’ wasn’t a ‘he’ at all. Your mind was literally racing with thoughts as you tried not to stare on in near morbid curiosity.

You find it strange how slowly he removes his helmet, almost as if he’s being careful of something. Locus probably doesn’t trust you, okay, he really doesn’t trust you, but you supposed you should feel somewhat honored that this person, who took such pride in their machine-like capabilities, was daring to shed their literal armor and show the core that lay beneath.

Your breath catches in your throat for a second time as you see his face. You swallow. Your mind is still racing, trying to piece together thoughts. He’s gorgeous. Not any more so than yourself, but his features are still handsome; dark skin, longish hair he’s pulled up, the kind of strong jaw and chiseled facial features you read about in romance books. What stands out the most, and there’s no denying it in any way, is the giant plasma burn across his eyes. He’s blind. Where organic matter once resided inside his eye sockets, there were now two white plates, possibly circular in shape. The burn itself is mostly pink with various white streaks to show the different degrees of scarring. All too quickly, he covers his eyes with a pair of what look to be regular black sunglasses.

You almost tell him he doesn’t have to...doesn’t have to cover the burn mark because it doesn’t bother you or anything. However, the dark glasses spark with blue light briefly and you can see what appears to be some kind of grid appear on either lens, obviously flipped and reversed. There are multiple wires hanging off the glasses that disappear around the back of his head. More than likely they reach to somewhere on his suit, possibly even connect to his spine. That would explain how he was able to see with them.

You’d almost forgotten about the whiskey and nearly drop it as you hand it up and over to him. He takes it and drinks without hesitation.

“See? Not even poisoned.” you laugh, some silly ironic smile on your face. “It’s not bad to just relax sometimes.” you note offhandedly as he passes the bottle back. You sit the bottle in-between the two of you on the floor; you on the mattress still, and him with his back against the wall. You’re running low on cigarettes now and figure you’ve gotta save them for the really important times...the really good fucks and the really bad ‘lows’.

A silence passes between the both of you. Locus obviously sucks at talking, and quite honestly you do to. You can put on a facade and pull conversation out of your ass no problem, but making meaningful conversation or saying what you really wanted...that was tricky sometimes. Usually though, you just gave into your impulses and did or said something foolish. In fact, the only reason you’d survived this long in the mercenary business was because you have the devil’s own luck.

“So how did it happen?” you ask, tone flat and eyes cast down at your still armored feet.

He’s quiet still, but it’s obvious he’s thinking...deciding what would be appropriate to tell.

“During the Great War. I was caught off-guard by a plasma grenade after my helmet had been knocked off.”

You nod numbly and pick up the bottle. That could have been you. Some decade later, that could be you with all those wires and machines in your body just to make you do one simple thing. It scared you. Locus even went on to say the wound was one that could have been easily avoided...if only he had had someone to watch his back.

“Yeah,” you mumble back, dumbly, still staring at your feet. It’s a strange numbness that overtakes you suddenly and you didn’t want to think about any of that anymore...but you can’t stop.

“You know I was in the Great War too.”

He huffs, disbelief drowning the action out, “Really?”

“Yep.” you say simply.

Silence fills the air again.

“Where were you stationed at?”

Locus says he moved around too much to call any one base or outpost ‘home’, and you agree. It was the same for you. Honestly, it was probably that ridiculous rotation that kept you from meeting each other. It was silly to think how moving out could keep you ignorant of the other’s existence. It wasn't weird, just...dumb.

You go 'home' that night to the rebel side with a melancholic look on your face. Kimball's excited, going on about some new great operation or rally she's planned, but you're not in the mood for it. You hated feeling like this even if you did it to yourself in a way. That stupid war had taken so much from you; people you thought would be your friends...precious sleep...don't forget all the time you spent thinking about all this shit. No alcohol in the world could make the nightmares go away. 

You roll over on your cot, still filthy from the day and needing a shower. You can't bring yourself to do it even though the smell is starting to get to you...embarrassing as it is. Staring at the concrete wall of your room, your eyes focus on an empty spot in the inky blackness. You think about Locus...you know exactly why too. His eyes, or lack thereof really, is starting to make you nervous and a little sick. The fact that it could have easily been you causes you to turn onto your other side yet again. What if you had lost an arm? A leg? Your ability to walk? You wouldn't be a mercenary, not even close. You'd be an invalid in some military hospital before finally being transferred to some kind of assisted living for veterans or something. Your stomach twists and knots. It's an idea so far from reality but you can't stop thinking about it, to keep your mind from manifesting images of you being bed-bound or wheel-chair bound. You were still young, you had your whole life ahead of you, and just...you were too powerful to be dealt a blow like that. Maybe it's offensive to think that way but again, you can't help it. You squeeze your eyes shut in the dark and breath out heavily.

With nary a sound, you sit up on your cot and swing your legs over the side. You rub your face with both palms before standing and reaching for your helmet. Without a second thought, you put the helmet on and click on the features, limited thought they may be without the rest of your armor being connected. You turn on the radio, activated the private comm-link established between you and Locus and wait a few minutes.

"Hey Locus...you awake?"

A good bit of silence passes before there's any sort of noise. You'd almost given up on him answering but eventually you hear what sounds like shuffling of some kind (probably him getting up to grab it), and then a voice, “What is it? You realize how dangerous this is.” Maybe for him, you think. Your room is situated in the back of the base and isolated from other soldiers...you’d made sure of that by ‘off-ing’ the ones nearby; you couldn’t have someone getting nosy and eavesdropping.

Honestly though, you weren’t expecting him to respond and it wasn’t like you contacted him with anything worthwhile to say. So you don’t say anything. You barely breathe...it’s just heavy enough that the sensor on your visors is picking it up.

“I’m going to kill you tomorrow.”

Where that came from you’re not really sure; was it another stupid impulse moment or something you’d been feeling all along? You weren’t trying to scare him with empty threats, that was pointless, regardless. So you wait for him to respond before you can say anything else.

“I see.” Locus pauses on the other end, both of you having to choose your words carefully it seems, “Am I to take it that you’re finally getting serious?”

You immediately break the connection and end the call.

Inside, you’re still just as empty as you had been...still restless from the thoughts of war and Locus that plagued you. But somehow, your mind is at peace. The obstacle that was keeping you from sleep was now marked for death and as good as dead.

The next day, Locus appears from nowhere and snipes the general of the rebel army.

Kimball’s in an uproar, the kids pretending to be soldiers are running around like headless chickens, and in the middle of it all, you just stand there...staring into the distance and waiting for the next bullet to pierce your helmet.

A voice rings out, “Get down!”, and you and your ‘savior’ both hit the floor of the deck on which you’d been standing. Whoever decided to have a rally meeting out in the open was a complete idiot, you mentally note as you lay there staring up at the sky. Kimball is your would-be hero, having knocked you to the ground to avoid a practically unavoidable shot.

Once again, you’ve cheated death.

Kimball lugs you to your feet, screams for you to wake up, to snap back to it, and that she needed the real Felix with her right now. You almost start laughing at that line...the real Felix...that person didn’t exist.

It seems like Locus didn’t take kindly to your threat.

Who would?

Have you done what’s right? What you needed? 

You’re honestly not sure but a little part of you is starting to eat away at your insides as you sit there under cover next to Kimball as she barks orders.

Locus is the only interesting person you’ve met in a long while, and you just made an irrevocable threat on his life...you don’t want to kill him...not yet. It’s not time. Things have to be just right and they aren’t...if they ever would be. Now that was the most terrifying thought you'd had in a long while.

Something catches your eye and you turn to look (Kimball’s got her back to you and is completely involved with trying to get everyone organized and towards safety from this apparent attack). A good distance away, you see him...you see Locus. His helmet looks almost smug as he looks down at you but you can’t find it within you to feel angry.

You’re just...empty. 

Nothingness...just like the way he cloaks and disappears.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mention of noncon/rape but not between lolix

It’s drop shipment day...that means a new box of goodies should be waiting for you at the hidden base. It was one of your agreements with Command; you’d stay and live on Chorus as long as someone was sending you your necessity items. There’s two new bottles of alcohol (one whiskey the other rum), certain foodstuffs that were unavailable on Chorus but could literally be found anywhere else in this galaxy, and...of course, the fuckers forgot your cigarettes.

You weren’t addicted, in fact, you could stop any time you wanted. You really only had one when the moment called for it - a good fuck, a good kill, a good panic attack, you name it. Still didn't mean you weren't pissed off about it...damn, was the list that long or hard?

You roll your eyes and stand up to your full but short height, tucking the box back into the corner it had been placed. Without a word, you grab your rifle and head back outside to the soldier you'd brought along with you.

“Yep, looks like the place is deserted, and has been for some time. We should tell Kimball about this place.” You say all of this with a wide smile stretched across your features; everyone else is too stupid to gauge your lies. In fact, this kid is pretty jubilant at the fact, glad he was finally being seen as useful. That is of course, until a shot rang out and the guy dropped like a sack of rocks.

“Oooo, good shot.” you say boredly, clapping your hands slowly for effect.

“I wouldn't be so flippant, you're next.”

A few months ago that threat might have scared you but not anymore. Locus isn't a threat to you anymore, not after showing how easy it is to get under his skin. A little song, a little dance, and Locus started questioning everything. Locus has no power over you anymore.

“Really? Now see if that was true you'd have already fired. So...what brings you to this neck of the woods, neighbor?” You laugh, “Get it? Cause there's a jungle?”

He growls low, possibly rolling his eyes.

“Just out for a stroll? Same for me. However, you have literally spoiled my plans for the rest of day, asshole. That means you have to make it up to me.”

“What?”

“Yeah, that guy,” you pause to turn and kick the dead man's foot with your own, “that guy was my fuck buddy for today and now I've got nothing.” You can only hope Locus is picking up on the fake hurt in your voice.

“I kill one of your men and that's what you're worried about?”

“Locs, look, he didn't belong to me and never did. I'm not a real part of this army, guy. Man, you really put yourself into your work, don't you?”

He grows silent, like he always does when you throw him for a loop.

“Hey, the least you can do is help me hide the body. I don't want like, animals and shit picking at his carcass.”

He's not keen on helping or very adamant about it but he does so nonetheless.

Without much thought to it all, you're both back inside the base. 

“I was coming here to kill you,” he admits point blank.

“How'd you even know I was gonna be here?”

“Just a guess.”

“ …come on, you're not still mad about that whole I'm gonna kill you thing, are you? Look I was just...kidding or whatever.”

“Right.” He doesn't believe you at all, not a word. He's right to though, you weren't kidding. You just couldn't describe what had come over you that night. Mental void?

All too quickly you're both drinking again, and back on the topic of that stupid war. You talk about your squads, your C.O.’s, and most importantly, about you did after the war was over.

“Oh, me? Well you know…” You hazard a laugh, wondering if for the first time in your life if you should actually tell the truth about your past. It almost felt like you owed it to Locus...in a way you supposed you kinda did, after all, Locus was the only interesting person you'd met in the last ten years and the only one who even had an inkling of what you'd gone through. You're silent for only a moment before deciding on the real story.

“You want to know the truth? I swear if you tell anyone I really will kill you.” You laugh mirthlessly and pass the bottle over towards, “When I got back, I expected...parades, parties, um...national praise and all that shit...you know, the stuff we were promised while we were out there risking our lives. The Big Homecoming Fuck Fantasy or whatever. When I did get back, people avoided me on the street. They wouldn't even look at me. I had no home to go to, no friends go stay with -”

“Why?” Locus interjects.

“‘Cause I was an army brat.” you smirk, “The planet I was born on got invaded and nuked by the Sangheili while I was still little. Mom disappeared after I was born, something about her being really young and pursuing her dreams or some shit. My old man was like 60 something years old by the time I hit ten so, you know, while I was at school and safe, our house caved in and it killed him. I don't remember too much, just that some soldiers basically adopted me. ...aw come on, Locs, you don't want to hear that lame sob story when I've got a million others.”

“You said people treated you differently…” he murmurs, trying to pick up the old conversation.

“Yeah, as I'm sure you know, we were all seen as monsters because later the Sangheili were seeking peace treaties and shit. So, me having ‘solider stigma’ or whatever, only place I could go was a domestic shelter for people who'd been fucked up by the war. As it turned out, you can only stay at one of these shelters for a maximum of 6 years.”

“You couldn't find a job in 6 years?”

“Locs, please, I had plenty of jobs…just couldn't keep ‘em. I don't know what went wrong, sometimes I'd just space out or get so angry I'd snap on people. Customer service just ain't my thing.” You laugh and accept the offered bottle to take a good swig, “So long story short, they made me leave. I ended up pick-pocketing this guy who was so impressed at what I'd done and how I'd gone about it that instead of calling the cops on me, he asked me to steal some shit for him. Turns out, army life gave me a great set of skills that are absolutely worthless in the real world. But in the ‘underworld’ scene, I could rake in big bucks. So, that's what I did. I started saving money where I could, doing favors and odd jobs, until I was able to get my armor back...well, it's not the original since none of the pieces match but you get the idea.”

He does the get the idea. None of his armor pieces matched either. His story is the same too, right down to staying into a domestic shelter and trying to readjust to society. He failed too, no matter how hard he tried. So you ask why he kept going, what was his reason...he answers with validation. He was still seeking answers to questions he'd had from the beginning, and up to this point, not a single person, cause, or thing had come close.

Locus says his squad members went their separate ways; most of them ended up killing themselves or disappearing from the public eye never to be seen or heard from again. He was the only one left...just like you. It's strange, isn't it? How a complete stranger can have your life...live the exact same way right down to the tiniest details...

The cogs in your brain are turning but you're not sure what kind of conclusion you're trying to reach, if there even is one.

He's still quietly speaking when you lean over, reaching for his face, and kiss him. It's simple, chaste as could possibly be compared to your usual. There's a slight taste of alcohol present, the smell of metal and gunpowder is heavy when the two of you are this close.

There's a hand on your chest plate suddenly that pushes you away, your lips separating with the slightest pop.

"No," he says flatly, not even looking at you.

"No?" you throw back with little hesitation, a tad more offended in your tone that you had planned to be. You'd though for sure you'd read the situation...thought this felt right...didn't people come together over this kind of thing...?

He's still got on his hand on your armor chest plate, only removing it to reach for the contraption that you'd taken to calling 'sunglasses'. With a careful but swift expertise, Locus was disconnecting the wires that ran from the glasses back down to his spine, taking additional care to replace the glasses in a compartment on his armor. Honestly, you're not sure if you should be amazed that he's doing this for you, or insulted that he can no longer see you. Sure he could say he was trying to make sure his only method of sight was undamaged, but...did going in the dark suddenly make things easier for him? It's hard to think about, hard to say for sure that you've figured out part of this mystery for certain, especially when he starts kissing you again. 

This is what you wanted, what you needed. It wasn't just the sex but the fact that it was Locus here with you. He knows you, he understands you, if only because he's been through similar things and it's almost impossible to pass on the idea. So when does your stomach feel uneasy then? 

The process of stripping armor is awkward and time-consuming like it always is in these situations, but your chest is heavy and tight. It feels like the very air is choked with something and every breath you take is pointless. The muscle lining your stomach starts to cramp and twist, a sensation that you can't recall feeling in a long time. At least the process of opening yourself up is familiar, something you can focus your mind onto solely as you retrieve the lube from your things and work two fingers inside of yourself. It's an almost half-hearted attempt, and you actually start hoping you've done enough to keep yourself from being in pain as you lay there on your knees with your ass pointed skyward.

It's evident that it wasn't enough, the painful stretch that follows when he pushes in. Normally, you like a little a pain, a little roughness during sex is nice but something still doesn't feel right. You're almost certain it has nothing to do with the fact that you're bottoming; you actually don't mind it because at least when it came to other nameless soldiers, you were giving orders on how to properly fuck you. You're silent now, not sure what to say, because if you open your mouth then you're certain vomit would come out. Fuck, why does it feel like this? It should just be a normal, generic fuck like all the others. What makes Locus different than a nameless solider? 

Is it because he's handsy? He has to be though, he can't see...which means his hands are slightly coursing over your body and looking for a place to settle. One of his fingers catches on the piercing in your right hip and you guess some kind of brief, pained noise passed through your lips. Still though, it's the perfect excuse. You like getting a little rough after all and prepare to swing your right elbow back into his chest. Yes, this would fix it. Everything was suddenly feeling too gentle and that would definitely ruin a good fuck, you know that first hand. Suddenly, there's a sharp pain in your shoulder, the same place where he shot you, and you fall awkwardly, face-first into the mattress. At that point you're glad he can't see you, that he can't see you trying to push yourself back up. Of course, it's almost like he can tell and through another awkward set of motions, you're suddenly on your back and face to face with him.

Your stomach twists bad again, and like an animal working on instinct, your hand flies out and lands on his stomach. This was too intimate.

Your voice catches in your throat but you're panting like all the same, "Stop...shoulder's acting up..." you manage to hazard out.

Part of you wants to scream at yourself, say Felix, you're a fucking idiot, you wanted this and now you've stopped it. The other half of you is breathing a sigh of relief and might as well have his head in his hands.

You haven't stopped sex in 8 years...not since then. You thought you'd moved on, put that disgusting memory behind you once and for all. It was that bastard's fault that you chose not to work with a partner. After all, how could you ever trust anyone ever again? Not after something like that, it was impossible. Maybe that's one reason you were always so ready and willing for sex; if you had enough good experiences, then it should wipe out the bad, right? Made sense to you.

You swallow, put a hand to your head and grimace at the sweat that's collected there. You're not even certain if it's from the sex or from the ridiculous self-induced, mild panic attack you just experienced.

You curse, and smack the mattress with the hand not connected to your injured shoulder.

By the time you realize your surroundings, Locus has already dressed and left.

A few hours have probably passed as you lay there on that makeshift bed, sweating in the heat that overflowed into the base. That asshole had been dead for almost a decade and yet here he was, back to haunt you again. You could clearly remember waking up in the middle of the night, drowsy and drugged so that you couldn't fight back. Your hands were tied, a knot too intricate to break free from even with your all talent, and you'd been gagged for good measure. That night is still a little blurry despite it all, but you can clearly still hear him whispering, 'Shhh, I know,', as you tried your hardest to fight back.

You go back to your room, the one back at the Rebel base, and fall asleep instantly despite having napped at the secret one. You spend most of the night dreaming about that incident, about how you were untied the next morning, planned a deadly counterattack before he returned, and left the asshole bleeding out onto the floor when he did dare to show his ugly face. Then, out of the darkness, Locus is there. Like a cliched light at the end of the tunnel, your mind starts making up scenarios about the two of you during the Great War; about you fighting together, living together...surviving together. 

You wake in the middle of a panic attack. 

You know what'll fix this and you hate it. 

For some reason, you want Locus.


	6. Chapter 6

"Something on your mind?"

You roll your eyes...actually, yes, there was a a literal "fuckton" of things on your mind and had been for weeks, from Locus to that past incident to the war on Chorus to your secret identity to your own demons born from The Great War. It was all fucking tiresome. It's the entire reason you'd come down here to this glowing pond of chemicals to think while your free time had allowed it. Sure it wasn't the healthiest or safest place to be, but it was quiet and usually devoid of people. Save for the now second-in-command Vanessa Kimball who was always ready to talk your ear off and basically flirt with you. You're new, different, the kind of person to waltz into her life and turn a grey-colored lens into a rose-colored one...it worked too. That way, any red flags just looked like flags.

You scoff in response, acknowledging her with a small head turn before you turn back to the neon-blue liquid that was bubbling some distance below your feet. The rebels had actually tried to come up with a plan for using this stuff in battle, you know, like the ancient civilizations who poured boiling oil on intruders who got too far into their city. Of course that fell flat when these idiots failed to find a substance that could contain this stuff without melting away the bottom.

"I don't think I've ever seen you at a loss for words." Kimball quips.

"I'm not, I'd just like to be alone if that's alright. Besides, don't you have some important second-in-command paperwork or something to deal with?" That's right, keep the mask up, be friendly like always. It never hurt to falsely feed an ego or two, especially when that person was Kimball. In fact, he could go on and on with bullshit about how she deserved this promotion and no one else could lead these losers. God, her life was so pathetic. For some reason it made you think back to the Great War...yeah, Kimball would have never survived. She just wasn't the type. Sure she was a 'rebel leader', but she wasn't the type to stop at nothing to do what she needed, to get what she wanted, to... _live_.

"Sorry," she laughs, "Didn't realize this place suddenly became private property." She's silent for only a second, now standing right beside you, "Look, I know you're upset...but it's alright."

A cold sweat begins to run down your back. No, she doesn't know. She can't know. She's too damn ignorant like the rest of them. She can't know about Locus or that you've been talking.

"Oh?" you shoot back, voice unfaltering.

"We're gonna land on our feet. It's taken some time to get adjusted to everything, especially for me. I wasn't even sure I was cut out to be in a position of leadership. The only thing the last general ever trusted me with was 'hospitality'." It's not a lie, she was put in charge of 'taking care' of you, which meant making sure you were getting use to life here on Chorus as well as getting you anything you needed. It was a huge ego boost to be sure but it wasn't like she was your personal assistant or anything, she usually got pulled away to go do other things. But besides all that, just what in the hell was she on about? "Losing the general was a huge loss for us but we're not out by a long shot. The new general's come up with new plans of attack, ones that aren't cowardly assassination attempts, so just let us know what you need on your end, okay?"

Her words sting, make you angry...Locus was no coward. He was a sniper. It was in his training for god's sake. Why this was making you mad you aren't exactly sure. This probably wasn't something Locus would even get upset about...would he? You'd been thinking too much on the Great War lately hence why your mind kept wondering back there; he would have bet good money Kimball was one of those people who shunned soldiers when they returned home.

You try to be civil, hold your tongue so that only colloquial conversation comes off it. You steer the conversation away from the topic of Locus...Kimball wasn't good enough to talk about him or judge him, she had no idea what they'd gone through or the things they'd had to deal with to overcome that damn stigma. Nothing is working and it's just making you madder so you tell Kimball you're needed elsewhere to help some rookie recruits with training. But of course she has to open her mouth one more time,

"So, you just come down here to think sometimes?"

"Yeah. You should try it some time."

"Maybe I will..."

* * *

 

This is stupid, so fucking stupid, you keep chanting in your head as you absentmindedly pace back and forth in the secret base. There was no one around to see your bumbling or the uncertainty that hindered something as simple as your walking stature but you still felt the need to put the mask on anyways. Just like Locus. When he was unsure, he went into the dark and hid. When you were unsure, you put on a different mask to become another person. Honestly though if there had been a mirror somewhere in this stupid base you'd have gone up to it and said, "Felix, you're an idiot."

You pause in your pacing and look down, bringing a gloved hand up to your Kevlar covered abdomen before releasing a sigh. Your hand falls back down only to shoot back up, along with the other one, and engulf your face. Damn it all, you were acting like a schoolgirl with some kind of crush.

But it's only fair, your mind reasoned. Locus was...different. He was a mercenary (like you), he'd been through some shit (unlike the rest of these pukes on this planet), he wasn't connected to all this garbage and whenever his mission was done then he could just leave and walk away from it...and you kind of wanted to go with him. You'd never met another mercenary like him. He was so weirdly cold and calculated, but there was some strange gentle...warmth or something when the two of you fucked. The other partners you'd worked with in the past were slimy, untrustworthy, and without the tiniest bit of an honor code. There is no loyalty among thieves, you get that, but you can't help but feel it'd be different with Locus. You can't put your finger on it, you barely know anything about him, but something in this is making it all seem worthwhile. In a way, you guess kind of wanted...a 'friend'. You have plenty of contacts you could meet for drinks or sex or whatever you're in the mood for but nothing constant...you couldn't really call any of those people 'friends'. You weren't close. Most of them would sell you out in a heartbeat if they didn't know firsthand you'd come after them with vengeance and a sharpened blade.

But that's why you're hiding here. You're hoping he'll magically show up out of nowhere and you can just tell him everything; that you were hired by an outside source and that your boss would more than likely hire him if he decided to work with you and that he'd make a shit ton of money doing it, and yes, the two of you would get to work together. The two of you could play both sides and instead of one side coming out victorious, you could just let them kill each other until both sides' numbers were dismal. It was a win-win.

You groan under your breath and run your hands through your hair, a task seemingly hard to do given your undercut and fauxhawk hairstyle. Fuck, what if he didn't go for it? Then you'd really _have_ to kill him. If you didn't, he might go and blab your secret, get you potentially killed by the Rebels, and of course fired and out of a giant chunk of cash. You drum your fingers on a some kind of machine, one of the contraptions that filled the place with breathable O2 so that you could walk around helmet-less if needed. Either way, you should probably run this by Command first; what if Locus went for it but the mysterious little voice didn't and ordered you to kill Locus? Or sent another mercenary to come and kill you both? Dammit, this was not gonna end well. Not when there was only one good outcome and the probability of that happening was low.

The next thing you know you're jumping out of your skin at the sound of the tumblers that lock the door disengaging. With a rush, you've grabbed the pistol at your side and crouched down low, taking perfect aim at the target who dared to enter. Your finger is hugging the trigger but that's as far as you can force it...what if it was Locus walking through the door? Sure he'd already shot you, but you didn't... _want_ to shoot Locus? Why did that come out as a question in your head? You owed him a good cap for getting your shoulder, which was still wanting to act up by the way; the rebel medics were apparently total shit and yet another testament to the fact that that side was hopelessly lost.

The door finally slid open and a giant shadow blocked the doorway...but not for long. The shadow moved swiftly given its size, and closed and locked the door by inputting numbers into the pad near it. It was Locus.

You let the pistol falter, still crouched, "Jesus Locus, do you want me to shoot you?"

"Be quiet," he orders, coming over to you and pulling you up by your elbow. You fight this seemingly nice gesture with a push, almost as if to say, 'don't touch me.' It has nothing to do with the other night but he's probably going to think that now. No, that's not it, you're just not sure what's going on yet so you have to be on edge. "I've learned something I think you'd be interested in knowing."

"Oh yeah? And what would that be?" you ask smugly with a tiny grin; you knew something he didn't know either. But you still weren't sure if you could even tell him.

Locus tells you to help him, show how to turn the communications monitor on and how to attune frequencies.

"Uh, Locs? I could really care less what the news is saying these days." Besides, Chorus was so far away it was considered to be in the boonies compared to other planets which is why their civil war was getting absolutely no press coverage. Sad, really.

"Be quiet." is all he says again.

You suck your teeth and roll your eyes, not exactly happy with being told to shut up again...but you do it anyways. You're morbidly curious as to where he's going with this.

"Put your helmet back on," he says and practically punches the thing into your gut. You grumble but do so anyways...but not because he told you to.

The communication monitor crackled to life. Static filled the screen before it finally dulled to a pure black, leaving only a green line across the screen. Locus had input a frequency and was calling someone; you only knew this from past experience with the machine only your line was designated with the color orange, as was appropriate.

Suddenly, the cold sweat was back. What if Locus was calling the Feds to out you? Worse, what if he was calling the Rebels to out you? Maybe you should...you turn the idea over and over in your head and gingerly finger the pistol now back in its holster at your side. Locus was fully armored but a pistol shot might at least throw him off balance and give you enough time to carve through his Kevlar suit and reach for his heart or other vital organs...you wouldn't be picky. In fact, your old desire to cut him up might just be coming back...

" _Gentlemen...what a surprise._ "

You knew that voice...you stop everything and freeze, turning your attention slowly towards the communication monitor. The voice, although robotic and obviously modded, was the same type that Command used to contact you. Whoever they really were was a complete mystery. They never showed any kind of picture or video schematic on their end, and the frequency had been impossible to trace...you knew, you'd tried to do it once when you got bored down here. In confusion, you turn to look at Locus.

This had to be a fucking joke.

" _It is good to see you both well._ "

You look back and forth between the screen and the man standing beside, "What's going on?"

"Felix-" Locus starts but his tone is too patronizing for your tastes so you explode.

"No, don't tell me to be quiet again, tell what the fuck is going on here!" You've really only ever understood emotion in the extreme; when you were happy, you were on top of the world and nothing could bring you down, but when you were angry...hell really couldn't match your fury.

Locus is silent for a moment, obviously not certain if it's okay to speak yet, but gives a small sigh before saying, "I'm surprised you didn't figure it out sooner. We've been tricked."

" _Tricked is subjective, Locus. We merely sought the safest method of carrying out this task. With one side defeated and out of the picture, all the more easier for the winning side to lower their defenses._ "

"Okay, slow the fuck down...so you're saying these jackasses hired both me and you for this mission? And they don't care who actually wins?" You're asking Locus, of course, not that you're betting 'Command' will tell you anything else.

" _That is correct, Felix. You see, there is another matter on the agenda and therefore a change of plans is necessary._ "

"Oh yeah? Like what?" you ask smugly, trying to pretend like you have the upperhand here. If Locus was pissed, he was doing a real shitty job of showing it. "Because I think, you owe us something."

The voice on the other end was silent for a moment, " _...and what would that be?_ "

"Oh, you know, the usual: a payraise, some extra munitions, a better base to work with than what we've got, and maybe a couple of extra soldiers that work under us. I don't think that's asking too much considering you were literally paying us to kill each other and then probably gonna off the one who lived yourself." Of course you'd thought this all out, you were gonna ask to get some of these things from the Federation's side if he agreed to work with you. As for the rest, what other reason could there be? Why would you hire two people to do the same job except for them to kill each other?

"Felix!" Locus hissed, but your sight remained fixated on the screen.

" _Very nicely done, Felix, you've figured it all out. Yes, we had no intention of paying either of you for this mission as we expected you both to perish in the onslaught of battle. However, we are willing to make you a deal. Stay on Chorus and complete the mission together. Continue to work undercover with your respective armies and send them to war whenever possible...their lives are forfeit. The utmost priority now is the retrieval of alien artifacts that have been discovered on Chorus._ "

"And? What about our stuff? Me and Locus here, being the good buddies that we are now, are gonna need some kind of place for recon and planning. I mean, talking through our radios is just so risky and someone might accidentally overhear us. And ugh, don't get me started on space problems...if we did find any of these "alien artifacts" you're talking about, where would we put them? Really don't think we can budge on these things." Your words are nice but your tone is poisonous and dripping with sarcasm and you only hope that it's getting through to whoever is one the other side.

" _You shall have it. Continue with your assigned missions. We shall be in contact, gentlemen."_ With an ominous beep, the connection flatlined and the green line disappeared from the screen.

You lick your lips, trying to stifle a small laugh, "Well...hi _partner_."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: inclusion of Siris's character into story but remember, this is still an AU.

The two of you are walking in silence towards your objective, you leading with him flanking you. He’s as silent as ever...kinda ticks you off...you wish he’d talk about something, anything, just to break the monotony. Of course, he won’t though, that’s just how he is. True, you were supposed to be sneaking around to avoid being seen by anyone, but the covering of the trees should have provided enough.

It didn’t take long after your initial confrontation of Command (or Control, as Locus continuously tried to correct you) for them to send you your first mission together: kill the newly appointed general of the Rebel Army. When Locus pointed out that the Rebel side had already recently suffered a blow thanks to him, the person behind the monitor simply dismissed it, explaining that without the spark of anger fueling the Rebel side, there would be no war in the first place. Give it some time, and they would be ordered to attack the Fed side as well.

After the call ended, you readily volunteered to take on the task but Locus had to come with you regardless. You’d only met and talked with the 2nd general a few times but obviously the man wasn’t to your liking so you’d figured you’d like nothing more than to shoot him out of the sky when he made his departure for peace negotiations...it was the perfect plan. That’s why you and Locus were currently trudging up a cliffside, the same one he’d discovered earlier that gave him the perfect vantage point to snipe the 1st general.

You figure this is going to be quick and easy, an in and out kind of job with little flair, but you suddenly hear his voice come out in a whisper, “What happened the other day?”

Shit. It only took him 5 years to ask but here it was, the conversation you’d been dreading was about to happen. You give a small laugh, “Whatever do you mean, Locus?”

“The other day...what happened?”

Of course he isn’t going to come right out and say it, point how your entire demeanor changed and how you broke out into a sweat for no reason. Why he wants to know is beyond you...maybe he thinks he was the cause of it? For some reason that kind of makes you feel bad.

“Look, it’s not a big deal. Maybe we should just drop it and focus on the mission, hm?” That’s what he likes, right? Focusing on missions? Something to take his mind off everything else? Something to give him validation?

You realize you no longer hear crunching foliage behind you, and turn to look. He’s stopped dead in the middle of the makeshift path, like he’d turn into some kind of giant statue.

You sigh, “Really? You’re not gonna let this go? Alright, fine then.” you shrug, nonchalant, and turn to completely face him, “I don't normally work with partners for a reason, okay? I had a partner a few years back who turned out to be the biggest fucking pile of shit I’d ever met. He drugged me one night, I woke up with him on top of me, and you can use your imagination from there. I killed him, I moved on. The end.” With a spin, you turn on your heel and keep walking towards the cliffside. There was a still a bit of ways to go before the two of you got there.

“...I’m sorry.” Suddenly he’s right there behind you again, silent as ever and practically mumbling when he speaks. Of course everything would get awkward...what the hell were you supposed to say when someone told a story like that.

“Well, now you know.” you shrug flippantly and readjust the rifle in your hands. You aren’t exactly sure why you’ve been carrying it; you plan to use a sticky bomb shooter to take down your target, and it’s not like there’d be anyone up here anyways.

“...you know,” You start talking again although you aren’t sure why or even where you’re going with this, “The whole partner thing...it doesn’t bother me anymore. I mean, it’s not like us working together bothers me or whatever.” You would never compare Locus to that asshole, or insinuate that being partners would remind you of that time. Locus wasn’t like that. “There was actually one guy I kinda miss working with though...he was kinda like you now that I think about it.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”

You shrug, “Eh, could be both, really. He was always rules ‘this’, and regulation ‘that’. Made working together a real pain in the ass but he was skilled...and he sniped too.” you tack that last bit onto the end and watch him nod. It was then you realize that you’d slowed down and fallen in line with him and his pace.

“Yeah, sometimes I wonder what happened to Siris…”

“Siris...was that his real name?”

“Nah, it was a codename. Oh, that’s something you two have common - being overly dramatic.” you pause to laugh and then begin to speak in Siris’s voice, mocking him, “Siris is short for Osiris and is the god of the underworld and I’m too edgy and over-dramatic for my own good.”

“This Siris...was he…”

“Was he what?”

“What was his real name?”

“Uh...not sure if I should give that out, I mean, dude’s still alive somewhere...maybe. Scout’s honor or something that I don’t give out real names, Locs.”

“That’s fair. But if I ask then there should be no harm done, correct? Was his name Mason Wu?”

You blink and your eyes shoot open...no fucking way.

“Was that his name?”

“Yeah...actually...it is…” you say, uncertainty dripping into your voice.

“I worked with this Siris for a short time myself.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me...seriously?” You shake your head in disbelief but you're smiling behind your helmet. Where had the universe being hiding this asshole? Of course he would know Siris, of course they’d worked together before...man, this was just getting better by the minute.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, the smile stretching your face slightly affecting the tone of your voice, “What's next? You aren’t gonna turn out to be my long-lost twin brother or something are you? Because let me tell, I will be 100% obligated to scream.”

He huffs beside you, some kind of grunting laugh, “Believe me, I doubt that.”

Your boredom now replaced with a semi-rare giddiness, one usually reserved for your more drunken escapes, you have to force yourself to not dance or skip up the cliffside. It’s ridiculous, but you’ve got another thing in common with him, a pretty big one, and that means more to talk about later.

“Siris...he wasn’t the one who…?” And happy mood over. You didn’t expect Locus to keep bringing that incident up.

“No, he wasn’t, okay? Can we not talk about that anymore? Okay? Please? Thank you?” You roll your eyes and frown...wish that feeling had last longer.

“Then Siris, was he the one you tried to rob?” Locus asks, now behind you again. You aren’t really sure why the two of you keep switching positions like this.

“Yeah, that was him. Kinda thought he’d be an easy target, then he ended up almost breaking my wrist.” You give a small chuckle despite the grim picture you just painted. You really want to talk with him more, to ask him about Siris, if Siris ever said anything about you since he never really mentioned a Locus...but he just tells you to focus since you’ve suddenly reached the top.

You easily load up the sticky bomb, wait for the target aircraft to come into sight, and with him watching carefully over your shoulder, you fire with ease and make contact. Within seconds, the aircraft explodes and sends shrapnel flying in all directions.

It was beautiful. The banging sound of the explosion, the red and orange flames mixing in with the black smoke, the scene it painted against the background of an even redder sunset...this is when you were most at peace. You love it. It's too perfect for words. Quickly, you look behind you to see Locus, almost as if you were waiting for his approval. He does nod in fact, and the two of you start to go down the cliffside.

Halfway down, he says Siris did mention a man named Felix...and that he was impulsive and reckless but despite everything, was a loyal partner to the end.

That made you want to gag...but it did sound like Siris.

* * *

 

Your new base is much fancier than the dingy outpost where you used to skulk around at. Seriously, it's a 100% kind of upgrade. This base was more on Fed territory but Locus promised he’d have no trouble sneaking you in should it come to that. You have little to fear regardless as Control (as you’ve begun to call them to shut Locus up) sent you a good handful of men and women, all armored from head to in black and calling themselves ‘space pirates’. You think the name sounds lame as hell but whatever, it’s not like you really had to worry about these guys. They were pretty much self-run once you gave them a task whether it be guard duty or recon stuff.

You’ve been paused at some terminal for a good minute now, looking it up and down.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, constantly by your side through all this moving in and construction and what have you; he isn’t really sure what to do with himself or his hands and for some reason you find that endearing...maybe even ‘cute’.

“Ah, nothing.” you announce as you back away from it, “I was kind of hoping for a ship, honestly.”

“Why a ship?” he asks almost innocently as your begin to circle the room boredly, slightly swinging your arms.

“Uh, duh? It has way more room...and privacy.” you smirk behind your helmet and hope he gets your insinuation. He does, but not in the way you want.

“Is that all you think about? We need to stay focused.” Locus reminds you...like you’d forgotten somehow. But that wasn’t going to deter you. You saunter over to him, stand very close, but never touch him.

“Maybe…” you say slyly, your voice almost a whisper as you lean in closer. With your own huff of a laugh, you slowly turn and walk away. He’s so fun to mess with, you decide, especially since he gets flustered so easily. But you’re not much better; the only thing missing from your highschool crush is for the two of you to be 16 again and actually back in highschool.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted this chapter to be longer but I shortened so I could go back through my notes and stuff. Siris's inclusion kinda threw the story off but I'm back on track now I think. Also I've got the weekend off for once.

Two years...you can’t believe it’s been two years.

All that wasted time of sitting around on Chorus alone, all the time wasted on other meaningless jobs around various star systems and non-descript planets...nothing in your life so far has compared to these last two years.

The only way things could get better is if the job were over and done with...but there’s still so much work to be done. 

The retrieval of these ‘alien artifacts’ are exactly how Control described. They’re relics of the Sangheili’s history, ranging from ridiculously old to the more recent ones that took precedence during the Great War. Among them are high-power lasers able to disintegrate anything within their line of fire, over-sized grenades that function as makeshift teleporters, and of course the real boring shit like things they used in daily life. Either way, it was all profit. And what they couldn’t turn into profit, they turned into weapons and bargaining chips. 

However, there still remained a huge problem and strangely it was only then that it hit you...the residents of Chorus. It was too hard for you and the others in your employment to hunt for these artifacts in the middle of a warzone. Even if there hadn’t been a war, it wasn’t like anyone could just drill freely. No, you realize the battles are nothing more than distractions; hard to hear massive drills over gunfire and explosions. 

In a way, you kind of miss being away from the action. You’ve successfully gone from Felix the Mercenary to Felix the Anthropologist, and if it weren't for Locus, you’d have been bored out of your mind. But thankfully, you never were. He was always there, sometimes silent and brooding, other times giving orders to the space pirates while you hung back and watched. It was nice. Being able to work with a partner again and all...having someone you could trust to watch your back was indescribable, something regular people just wouldn’t understand. 

Although it had been two years since their new mission as partners began, not a lot had changed. You were still dancing around him as much as possible, actively flirting and teasing him to the point of making him literally growl at you. And he’s not much better, not with the way he stares at you when he thinks you aren’t looking, the way he makes a point of it to always stand by your side whenever possible. But you aren’t really sure if it means what you think it means and you don’t want to push it. The two of you were finally moving away from that incident, and getting closer to things not being awkward again. Good thing too, you would really hate it if the two of you never had sex properly again. But was two years long enough? You didn’t really want to chance.

Instead, you do like he says, focus on the mission. You practice with your knives in the mornings; a far cry from the complete novice you were many years ago. And in the evenings, you try to rest as best as you can, sometimes in your new base in your warm bed provided by Control, sometimes in your small, dingy room on your uncomfortable cot at the Rebe basel. The nights at the Rebel base are the worst. You hate this place, you hate these people...they’re boring and not in the slightest bit interesting to you, not like Locus.

In fact, there was one night you called him through your private channel. In the midst of your laughing and joking, he finally spoke up and said, “Felix, I need to go.”

The statement shouldn't have been a painful one, at least not in the way it was meant. Locus also pointed out that it was 3am and the two of them needed to sleep. You had no interest in the idea of it, much rather preferring to run your mouth about nonsensical and unimportant things like you had been. Still, you let him ‘hang up’ and you slowly remove your helmet.

You were lonely when Locus wasn’t around.

But...oh, but the nights at the new base were so worth it. He never showed the slightest bit of annoyance at how much you talked; your long-windedness almost gave him an excuse not to talk which he probably kind of liked to be honest. Locus still wasn’t the most talkative person, but that didn’t stop you from shutting up completely whenever he did try to say something. 

Sometimes you drank (both of you sharing a bottle like always), sometimes you smoke (just you, he says he quit years ago), and sometimes you just talk. Once you thought there was something there, a little hint that things might escalate, but you were wrong. You were also really horny by the time he went to bed that night but you said nothing.

Part of you was starting to hate yourself for not speaking up, especially after _that_ day came.

A gaggle of idiot “soldiers” calling themselves the Reds and the Blues crash landed on Chorus. This was awful, a literal wrench in the plans. One wrong move, one wrong word, and the plan was over. But no, you had to stay calm, Locus said it was too early to worry about something like that. Besides, they'd probably resupply and leave. Simple. Easy.

But nothing is ever simple and easy. Everything that's happened in your life up to this point has taught you that. You advise Locus to join you on reconnaissance, to see just what these idiots are all about. He agrees begrudgingly, much rather willing to stay behind and out of sight. 

Their crash site lays in a canyon of sorts, an exit out, an entry point to a cave area that led to the Rebel side...not a terrible place for them to be. It all depended on who found them first and you were determined to be the first.

The survivors are many and their armor colors are bright and nonsensical. You attune your radios to their frequency and listen in. You'd never heard of the “Reds” or “Blues” but anyone could tell they were idiots. Especially the one in dark blue armor. However, there's one, competent enough to be considered a leader and exasperated enough to boot. But as he speaks, you notice Locus visibly stiffen across from you. He's cloaked and invisible to the naked eye, but you can still trace his heat signature by the thermo-optic tech in your helmet. Does Locus...know this guy? 

“Holy shit…” you breathe out, turning to look, it was actually them. _Those_ soldiers. 

Looks like they were going to be a problem after all. Especially the one with the yellow streaks. What was so special about him you didn't know, but you were going to found out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Won't be on Chorus for much longer, I promise.

Things haven't been...great.

So much had happened in such a short amount time that you were certain you had whiplash from it all. When the dust settled, you were at the Rebel base with 4 of the colorful fake soldiers now in your case. Tucker (idiot), Grif (fat idiot), Simmons (nerdy idiot), and Caboose (super idiot) - four new minor annoyances in your life. All in all, you see some...potential in Tucker. Maybe you could use him in a pinch if things got bad. At the very least you were definitely gonna kill him and steal that sword at his waist.

You pass the time “training” these four plus four other lieutenants on the Rebel side. You barely remember their names. Once, Tucker even made a deal that he could outsmart you and land a single hit on you. It was fun while it lasted and yeah, hitting him with the grenade was fun and all...but you wanted Locus there.

An impossible feat to be sure, and even sneaking away had become almost too hard to accomplish.

This has made your job, yours and Locus’s job, infinitely harder. But you guess you don't always have to be present; the workers Control hired are the ones alway scavenging for artifacts. But oh god are you bored…

* * *

 

Locus slams a file onto the table where you'd been sitting.

“What is this?” you ask flippantly, looking up to stare at his still helmeted face. Asshole, couldn't you even take two seconds to eat in peace?

“Read it,” he orders harshly, a low rough growl rumbling in his throat. He turns on his heel to put his back to you but doesn't exit the cozy sanctity of your private room at the new base.

“Ugh, hate reading…” you mumble under your breath as you snatch the manilla folder one-handed and drag it over towards you. Your hands are still armored by your body suit so it takes a second or two of thumbing at the creases but eventually you manage to work it open.

Inside, there are countless pages all filled with hand-written info about men and women. Each header starts with Project Freelancer. You skim and scan each page, not exactly sure what Locus expects you to glean from reading all this. The paperwork is dated years ago, and obviously had come from someone’s personal files so it must not have been top secret information.

Finally you sigh and relax your hands, sending the papers into a clutter, “Okay and? Why is this so important? Big deal, some idiots got involved in some illegal activity, um, hello?” You gesture at yourself and him by waggling a finger back and forth between.

“Not that.” Locus grunts, crossing his arms, “The soldier calling himself Washington….he's a freelancer.”

You give him a bored glare but glance back down to try and find any page marked with Washington. Sure enough, there in black ink from a ballpoint pen, is the name David, codenamed Washington. But what was the big deal?

“Yeah I'm lost. He's on the Fed side with you, right? What, is like some double agent and wants in or something because I'm voting a huge fuck no.” You carelessly crumple the papers back into the folder and slide it back across the table towards Locus, then carefully resume eating while waiting for him to answer.

“Did you even read it?” he sighs, “This Project Freelancer chose these soldiers for a specific purpose. This program only chose those of the highest calibur and…” he trails, like he has no idea what he's trying to say.

You chew a bite of your slightly out of date MRE meal and swallow, “And what? I mean, why is this bothering you? So much for this big government project if he's stuck babysitting those idiots for the rest of his life.”

“He's not. He's hiding.” Locus announced, “I did some research -”

“No shit,” you laugh around a bite, recognizing that particular tone in your partner’s voice. It was almost cute the way he dumped info about particular subjects, whether you cared about them or not.

“I did some research,” he starts again, “concerning Project Freelancer. It was some time after the Great War. They recruited former soldiers, mercenaries, thieves, anyone they deemed worthy to be a part of their program. The organizer of this program created an illegal AI program and did illegal experimentation...many of them died before the program came to full fruition. But Washington and Carolina are the only survivors. Carolina supposedly died but the details are hard to come by. Washington lives. He could be useful.”

“Really? Sounds to me like you're jealous of these guys.” How could you have known? It was just a joke, one that cut him super deep, but you didn't know...you were still learning what made Locus tick. You were close...close as you would ever consider another person but…

“Focus. I believe I have a method that will take the Reds and Blues down but if we fail, it means sacrificing our cover.”

You choke on your food, “Are you serious? You've got that much faith in this plan?” You look at him incredulously. Mr. By-the-books was willing to take a risk this large? No, something was up. “Tell me the truth...what's going on?” you ask lowly, absentmindedly twisting your plastic into the tiny smidgen of food that remained.

You wait only a few seconds before you speak again, “Did Control tell you to do this?”

“Do you trust me...Felix?” Locus asks, a blank stare from his helmet, but you could feel his pale eyes boring holes into you even from behind the tinted glass.

“Yeah…” you stumble out, but right yourself, “Sure, I trust you. Why not?”

* * *

Locus’s plan failed...the first part anyways, but you worked together so well it was almost criminal.

The Reds and Blues were separated from both the Feds and the Rebels, leaving ample time for both of you to swoop in and tell a lie.

It was just too easy. And now? It was time to put part 2 into action.


End file.
